With him went the wonderful jewels
of which he had breathed no word, and another relic to him yet more
precious--the hand of her Majesty Ma-Mee, Palm-branch of Love.
And now follows the strange sequel of this story of Smith and the queen
Ma-Mee.
II
Smith was seated in the sanctum of the distinguished Director-General
of Antiquities at the new Cairo Museum. It was a very interesting room.
Books piled upon the floor; objects from tombs awaiting examination,
lying here and there; a hoard of Ptolemaic silver coins, just dug up at
Alexandria, standing on a table in the pot that had hidden them for two
thousand years; in the corner the mummy of a royal child, aged six or
seven, not long ago discovered, with some inscription scrawled upon
the wrappings (brought here to be deciphered by the Master), and the
withered lotus-bloom, love's last offering, thrust beneath one of the
pink retaining bands.
"A touching object," thought Smith to himself. "Really, they might have
left the dear little girl in peace."
Smith had a tender heart, but even as he reflected he became aware
that some of the jewellery hidden in an inner pocket of his waistcoat
(designed for bank-notes) was fretting his skin. He had a tender
conscience also.
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